


Pane di Casa

by DearHanhan



Category: OneShot (Video Game)
Genre: Androgynous Ling, Drabble Collection, Misgendering, Other, Reader Is Not God, Reader-Insert, Slice of Life, all of the dad jokes in the world tbh, based on 100_prompts!, hopefully, how long till this spirals into angst though, my only goal for this story is to have as many dad jokes as possible, super light-hearted stuff!
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-20
Updated: 2017-09-25
Packaged: 2018-11-02 21:38:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,118
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10953231
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DearHanhan/pseuds/DearHanhan
Summary: There's something about him that just draws you in. Thinking on it some more reveals the answer to you -- Ling had always shown you the perfected version of his hospitality smile, the one that said 'my life was meaningless, till I was given the opportunity to serve your every need'. This smile is infinitely more beautiful, drawing you into the orbit of his warm, dimpled smile. It's nervous, slightly crooked, and not at all perfect.You realize that this is the kind of smile, the kind of warm looks, that you want to share with him more often.--Or, alternatively, the one where you work in a bakery and get conned into drinking more of Ling's coffee.





	1. Floo-ured

**Author's Note:**

> I can't believe I named this story after a piece of loaf.

There’s something magical about the practiced way your coworkers could ignore the pain of handling and packaging pieces of bread, coming straight off a 500 degree Fahrenheit hot plate. Simply astounding; the aroma of fresh bread that wafts from the ovens as they open and shut in rhythm with the bustling of the baker, smelling of fresh goodness in the way that only freshly laundered sheets or newly cut grass could imitate. These are at least some of the thoughts that filter through your brain at the God-forsaken hour of 6am, an hour before the bakery opens to the people of the Refuge.

You’re not salty, not at all. Just… slightly floo-ured by all the bread you had to go through today – hah, a bread pun. You smile to yourself. It only takes remembering that there was still three hours left till you could take a 15-minute break to erase that smile from your face. Still, could admit (to no-one but yourself, since the baker and robots were respectively baking and cleaning diligently, _unlike you_ ), your pun game was strong.

The sound of a loaf falling to the floor, sliding away from the clumsy hands of one of the in-house bakers is what breaks your monotonous repetition; you wave him away to continue the _good work_ , perfectly capable of cleaning up after them, even without the robot’s helpful hovering. The smell of bread is always lovely in the morning, but during your early morning shifts, you’ve found more pleasure at the thought of fresh bread, steaming on the _floor_ – mostly because it means one less bread to slice and pack out. Judging by the fact that you brain just supported the thought of losing sales just to avoid packing more bread… reveals that just maybe you’ve been working too many hours in the bakery again. _Hmm._

Still, these idle thoughts are enough to tide you over as you begin to place the breads in the shop’s glass display cabinets, facing forward onto the street, where the non-existent sunrise would probably have hit the loaves just _right_. This is what you’ve been told by the bakery’s elderly visitors, who seem to find some peace in reminiscing about a past that your generation could never relate to. Here, the passages of red phosphor are what marks your every hour.

When the early morning shoppers hit your store, you’re well on your way to completely slicing your first basket of whole-meal loaves, having already completed thirty loaves worth of white bread. Relying on the sounds of your robotic colleagues, all of which seemed to indicate that they were shuffling around and beeping greetings to the baker ( _aww_ , _no_ , look at them crowding the Mister Baker, bein’ all adorable… oh, wait – was having that many robots jam-packed around a safety hazard?), to tell you when a customer needed some humanoid assistance. Hunching over the manual bread slicer means that your back is constantly facing the shop, and your only field of vision comes with the assistance of some well-placed mirrors above your head. At a glance, you estimate that the shop front has been decently filled. The La-Bot, short for Labeling-Bot, seemed to be pleased with its hard work; you were just pleased that the robots had listened to your directions carefully, refraining from bothering the baker _too_ much, or alternatively attempting to help you slice bread.

Having delicate mechanics and wiring based being near serrated knives? Yeah, no thank you. Robots, you decided, must be protected from their own willingness to help at everything. Also, must be protected from sharp objects.

(Yeah, alright, you had a soft spot for your three robotic co-workers. Big deal.)

Eventually, you reward yourself by rolling your shoulder blades when you finish an entire roll cages worth of bread, stretching at the muscles in your neck that have remained tense for the past hour. Jabbing at the stop button on the slicer, your hands smoothly bag the loaf of bread in a non-descript brown paper bag, passing it along to La-Bot, watching as they passively label it and set it out. Shooting them a thumbs-up, you turn to greet customer that you can just see entering the store, even as you’re already turning away to grab a broom from out back.

“Good morning, welcome to the Bakery!”

Experience taught you that customers didn’t exactly appreciate it when you or your coworkers watched them peruse the store’s goods, even if you were just looking to see if they needed any assistance from you. You’ve gotten good at pretending to be busy, though you’re also amazing at passive-aggressively ignoring rude customer by _pretending_ to be busy.

By the time it’s 10am, the shop has emptied out of all the regular morning customers, coming by to pick up their preferred lunch-time bread rolls, leaving only the irregular dropping in of various customers. You’re practically counting down the minutes till you could take your break, and head straight home afterwards, before the creaking noise emanating from the opening door distracts you.

“Coffee delivery!” The cheery expression on your manager’s face never failed to awaken you just that little bit more, encouraged by the enthusiastic greeting she sends you, “I mean, it’s the _yeast_ I can do for my favorite bakers!”

Your snort and hurried cough does nothing to wipe away the smile on your face, filing away that beautiful play on words. Seriously, you wish that your robot coworkers were tamed, so you could teach them the art of puns. “Oh yeah!” Your manager rather rudely points at you, after seemingly remembering some important fact, “Guess who went to visit that new Café on the Residential level?” She croons at you, leaning over the display cabinet, wiggling her brows.

_Please, not this, nooo….._

“Um…” What a convoluted question to be facing with only four hours of sleep under your belt. Suddenly, you wish you could pretend to be busy, and avoid this question altogether; alas, it was not to be. Also, since she worked here too, it wasn’t like she couldn’t just walk straight after you, chasing you like a predator would its prey. “Uh, who?”

“Me, of course!” The shit-eating grin that she takes on when your lip turns into a scowl is indicative of the quality of your manager’s soul, which is probably as black as the sky above you. _What a depressing comparison_. “And guess who’s going to be delivering the loaves all the way there!”

You try not to make any expressions that give away how anxious you feel about your manager’s plotting face, even as she continues speaking. “It looks pretty chill, actually. And, hey! Since it’s totally on the way to your apartment, I’m gonna assign you as the main deliverer. I already gave them a heads up and _everything_.” 

“Why would you tell them that?” _Without asking me first?_ Oh, wait, this was your manager. Technically speaking, she didn’t have to ask your permission for any insane plot she had in mind. Still, it would have been nice to get a warning prior to the surprise.

“Because you’re not going to say no?” The look she sends you makes you want to make your excuses, like _I’m only this flushed because I’ve been working next to the ovens, ok_ , or _I’m only biting my lip like some animated background female love interest because I’m dehydrated, ok_. “Hun, you need a break. Seriously, if you can do the bread deliveries for a couple of days instead of pushing yourself to the brink of exhaustion, maybe you would feel better! And the Café people seem nice!”

“Seem… nice?” That question was not filled with _apprehension_. It totally was not.

“Alright, fine. As your leader, manager, and boss-extraordinaire, the one who’s responsible for signing your paychecks on time… Would you **please** deliver the bread to them?”

You were _not_ terrified—yeah, ok, right. “I live to serve.”

You liked your job, and keeping the manager happy was the best way to keep your work-life hassles free – even if it meant saying hi to _nice-Café-people_ just because the manger thought it’d be fun. Hauling the basket into your grasp, your mind wandered into idle territory as you made your way towards the Refuge’s main lifts. A thought flittered to the forefront of your mind, involuntarily making you smile; maybe you could eat breakfast before noon for once.

Eating at a Café did sound nice, after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's seriously been ages since I wrote fanfiction, whoa -- let alone Reader-Inserts, whoaaaa. But seriously, robots are adorable and must be protected at all costs! (and, also ling but he isn't even in here yet whoops? that 'she' at the end wasn't a mistake though lololol)
> 
> 100_prompts: 17, Front.
> 
> EDIT [21-05-2017]: Fixed some continuation errors, just to make sure that everything would match up for the plot I had mind for the future!


	2. Naan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More bread puns ahoy. Cue embarrassing yourself.

The delivery system of the Refuge’s Bakery works like this: in the early morning, when the bread has just come out of the oven, still too hot to slice, either you or one of your other various coworkers would first clock in, then briefly leave with the appropriate amount of bread loaves. The job is to distribute the loaves to the various diners situated around and above the sprawling city, all before the eateries themselves opened for business. The load you needed to lug around usually depended on the day; Fridays to Sundays were usually when you had to enlist the mechanical assistance of one of the robots. Generally, it was sweet Tinker-Bot that you relied upon. (Ti-Bot wasn’t exactly tiny anymore, not after the store owner had decided to pay for upgrades, but the name still stuck anyways.)

Today was different, since it was already late in the morning by the time the manager kicks you out. Giving a friendly goodbye wave to the trio of bots cluttered around the bakery, you head towards the stairwell of the 15-story building the Bakery was situated on top of, chosen particularly for the fact that it was of the few buildings with pre-existing ventilation.

The streets glow red, luminescent in their gentle pulsations, flickering to the light cast by the rivers of phosphor that powered the city. People are not usually present during this hour, where the heat begins to rise again and practically sear sweat marks onto your apron. You do remember a time, albeit when you were younger, where the streets would be filled with roaming tourists, looking through all the little shops for knick-knacks to lug back to their now-Barren homes.

It’s sad to think that a lot of people had to give up on their businesses to make room for more residential apartments. There was that one lady’s flower shop on Main Street… The scent of sweet alyssum, wisterias, and four o’ clocks that was present around her building’s entrance had long since faded. As far as you could recall, while hurrying past to reach the Ground Access Elevator, it had been converted into an aquarium by its new resident. 

You hoped the lady was doing alright.

Thankfully, the elevator is queue-less, and you gently press the [TOP] button, waiting for it to descend forty plus levels from the Observation Deck. The wait isn’t that tedious, and though you long to set your basket of loaves on the ground, you resist, in fear of dirtying the golden-brown goodness. By the time the doors ding open, you’ve already gone through the list of all the breads you could name, plus a few pastries chucked in for the fun of it.

 _Ahh, the joys of working in the bakery. Where the only thing you’ve learned to memorize was bread names, and how to differentiate a sandwich sliced bread from a toast sliced bread. Clearly, these were the type things you would need as a mature, working adult._

Another ding indicates that the elevator is ready to deposit you on the appropriate floor. You step out onto the deck, pleased to find that it is slightly cooler here, since the heat hadn’t had a chance to rise this far. Per the manager’s instructions, the new Café was to be found in the building to the left of the elevator, two stairs down from the deck itself; you make your way there, listening to the clanging of your feet (enclosed in sensible black leather today) as you make your way through the meandering steel walkways. 

When you enter the Café, you’re surprised to find it’s not a particularly… large establishment. But what it doesn’t have in terms of size, it makes up through its atmosphere. The entrance is lined with six tables, all set-up as tables-for-one, with a couple already filled with business people, perusing the daily news with their customary coffee brunch. There’s a semi-loud gathering of college students near the back corner, pestering a server bot to bring out more hot sauce. They seem to be having fun, taking up what to you appears to be two and a half tables. _Naan_ of the other customers seem to be annoyed, however, which only improves your first-impression of the Café. 

The place looks welcoming. This is the kind of place where you wouldn’t mind sitting on one of the stools, hunched over a mug of something sweet, reading from your laptop, resting your elbows on the rose-tinted benches.

All in all, it looked as if the server bot had taken no notice of your presence. It strikes you as strange, considering a server bot’s built-in programming. It’s not till you reach the counter and notice that a more _humanoid_ figure was smiling at your expression of awe that you realize _why_. Or, to be more precise, the figure was undoubtedly _human_ , and had been watching as you looked around with curious, sparkling eyes. When your eyes finally connect with the Café worker’s, your first impression is that of a pretty face with a kind smile, both of which seemed to be directed at you--

You feel a small flush beginning to build up from your embarrassment.

“Welcome to the Café! It’s nice to see a new face around here.” Though the worker seemed to be going through the customary greetings for any new Café customer, you could just _see_ the amused twitch on their lips. “What can I get for you today?”

Your mind scrambles to pull out an appropriate answer, and your lips quickly fire out the first reply it fabricates, “Ah, no, I’m—I’m not here to order!” _Wow, ok. Way to punt their greeting back in their face._

The worker’s smile slips a little, and you hurry to reassure them. “Oh, no, I didn’t mean like—um, well, I’m still interested in ordering something, just… Not now?” You are messing this up so much right now, _so much_ , and you attempt once more to pull back on the general embarrassment that was emanating so prominently from you. “I’d love to order something later, whenever I definitely come back. ‘Cause I will be coming back, just, after I finish work! I mean, if that’s ok?” _Double cringe._

The Café worker finally takes pity on you, grinning in a pleased fashion at your genuinely uncoordinated apology. “I’m ‘definitely’ alright with that. I'm going to guess, and say… You’re from the Bakery, right?” At your hesitant nod, their grin becomes infinitely warmer, just like your _face_. “I met your manager a while back. Is it true, that you will be in charge of the Café's deliveries?”

Thoroughly chastised when the disappointed face of your manager pops into your mind, you hold up the basket of loaves, lightly placing them on the countertop. You slide it towards them, and they accept it with brief thanks. Job done, you tug on your apron, brushing away a few stubborn spots of flour as you struggle to find a way to properly apologize. 

“You’re welcome…” Biting your lip, you decide to share at least _why_ you had spent far too long staring at the Café’s interior. “This place is just… really soothing. Compared to the busyness outside, your Café is so peaceful. I like it, a lot. Really… like it.”

Some of the weird tension, created from strange beginnings, dissipates at your honest confession. “Thanks for saying that.” The employee, running a hand through their messy dark hair, laughs, and you’re gifted with the sight of a dimple. Rather adorably, it continues to adorn their face. “I only just got hired, but it’s sweet to have customers coming in. Hopefully I can add you to that list soon?” They smile at you, only slightly cheeky; it showed that they had already mastered the art of injecting sass into conversation, while still sounding as polite as a server bot. “I’ll look forward to your visit.”

“Definitely!” The works come out as a squeak, even as you hurriedly bow your head.

After that, you make your way out of the room of checkered floors, back out onto the walkways. Somehow, it feels like the world had stopped spinning for a little bit, held back by the soothing atmosphere of the Café. Stepping back out into the world reminds you of the heat, and of the fact that you’re still clothed in your uniform and apron, completed by those cliché bakery hats.

You don’t notice that you’re still smiling, not till you glance back to peek at the doorway, even as you start your ascent back to the observation deck. 

Whoever that Café worker was, they seemed nice. You couldn’t wait to get to know... her? They looked like a _her_ , but…

_Huh. Maybe you should have asked for their name? Her name?_

Making a mental reminder to do so, you jab the [GROUND] button, settling in for the long wait once more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yesterday, I played through the Refuge part of Oneshot, just to check for a few details. That one bit where Niko looks at the view of the city from the top of the building... is where I totally chose the Bakery's building. Because it's literally one of the only buildings with rooftop ventilators, whoops 
> 
> (why am I so invested in details omg)
> 
> But today, I decided to set myself a challenge; approximately how tall is the tower that the Café resides in? (As you can tell, I had just watched an episode of Game Theory.) Let's say the elevator moved at a constant rate of 500ft/min. If you go through that rly awkward conversation with the Lamplighter in the elevator, it takes around 1 minute, give or take a few seconds, to complete the whooole conversation. That means that the building is at least 500 feet, or maybe more! How many floors is that though? According to the 'Council on Tall Buildings' (it is literally called that, omg), a 41+ground level story building mixed-use building would be 516ft tall (or 157m high).
> 
> tl;dr the café is located on the 40th floor, bc you have to go down two stairs to reach it or something??? also, I spent way too much time on this wow  
> ALSO HEY LOOK IT'S THAT CUTE GUY FROM THE CAFE WHOA
> 
> 100_prompts: 18, Queue.


	3. Rye

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rye you always lyin'?

By the time you had finished taking a shower and readying yourself, the hour had already struck 2 o’ clock. It’s safe to say that you’re starving. Popping a piece of candy into your mouth to tide you over for a little while longer, you make for your apartment’s closet, where you had last seen your cleanest pair of sneakers. Finding your shoes in the semi-organized space was easy enough, and you make sure to check that you had both your keys and some change on you before moving to lock the place up.

The apartment you lived in was rather small; a one bedroom, with a connected kitchen, styled bachelor’s pad. Even though the carpet had a suspicious looking stain from the previous owner (and let’s not mention too much about the fact that the bathrooms were a shared deal with the other residents), you were still pleased with the place your parents had graciously helped you to snag. _Plus, out of the long list of potential rental properties you had gone through, this was the only one that didn’t have weird neighbors that catcalled you… or had wild parties at 3 am… or had a sheep that bleated constantly… that sort of stuff._

Suffice to say, you had no major complaints about the place you lived in, other than the fact that you now owed your parents. Weirdly enough, all they had done was reserve _all_ your Sunday dinners for themselves.

Seriously, though, it wasn’t even that bad of a tradeoff.

Oh, wait. Judging by the pictures from your work manual, which depicted exactly what contaminated loaves looked like, the stain on the carpet seemed to be in the early stages of developing into mold. You give it a long, suspicious glare. That could be a health and safety hazard, eventually? Maybe you could ask the manager to temporarily lend you some baking powder? You shake those thoughts from your head, gaze determined and firm; you were a mature, working adult! You could buy _your own_ baking powder, and be more prepared for any future cleaning catastrophes!

From below, your stomach rumbles, interrupting the pep talk.

While it was easier to take the back alleyways from Camera Street (named for its last remaining crowd drawer: the free automated Camera shop) to get to Main Street, then walk further to reach Elevator Street, the destination was still closer when you took the minor walkways that weaved through the various high-rise buildings. It was tricky, remembering which path led to which building, but hey! _Rye would you do that, when you could avoid being cooked alive from the heat, eh?_ **_Rye_** _?_

That was another reason for why you chose this apartment over a few of the others. It was already connected to a side walkway, which, after a few minutes of twists and turns, gradually led you to one of the branching side streets near Main Street. From there, it’s a straight road to the elevator, and, consequently, lunch. Here, however, you pause, long enough to catch the smooth reports of the current newsbot on duty.

[—HAVE REPORTED THAT THE CITY’S POPULATION IS STILL ON THE RISE, AND STATISTICIANS WARN OF MORE DRASTIC CHANGES TO COME! STAY TUNED AS I UPDATE YOU ON THE LATEST DEVELOPMENTS AS THEY HAPPEN, OR WHENEVER MY PROGRAMMING IS UPDATED!]

Newsbot Unit #22 seems to be doing well, you note, and dapper in their newsboy cap. They didn’t seem to have anything else more newsworthy to report, so you make the executive decision of continuing moving towards the promise of food.

At this hour, the Café seemed to come alive with chatter, with a comfortable number of patrons packed into the rose-tinted booths. Carefully, you make sure to step aside and away from the doorway, allowing a couple who had just finished to exit.

Suddenly, you hear your name being called out from the counter. When you turn, you’re surprised to see the familiar face from hours before smiling at you, motioning to one of the stools nearby. They seemed to be caught up in the full-swing of things, judging by the 100-watt customer-smile they were flashing around. “Hey, glad to see a friendly face again. I forgot to introduce myself in all the excitement, huh?” With one hand, they place a menu on the counter in front of you; with the other, they hold it out for a handshake. You take both kind offerings, your lips curled into a delighted beam. “I’m Ling, and I’m _glad_ to be your server today.”

 _Ohh, Ling! So, that was their name!_ Man, he was good at being hospitable. He seemed even more suitable to the world of hospitality that you, the self-proclaimed walking door mat, were. “Mm, it’s nice to meet you. I guess my manager told you about… me?”

“Yeah, and a couple of other stuff too.” Ling looked a bit perplexed by whatever information your Bakery’s manager had crooned into their semi-willing ears. Some impulse tingles at your throat, and you work to wrench back the urge to ask them about _what embarrassing things_ your boss had decided to share with someone who was _basically_ a stranger. Still, Ling didn’t seem too offended by the ‘other stuff’, so you let that topic drop with an amiable giggle.

Your body’s movement alerts you to a tug at your palm, gently captured in fair white fingers. All at once, Ling seems to realize that the two of you had been ‘shaking hands’ for a bit too long than absolutely necessary. Immediately, Ling drops your hand, awkwardly pasting a smile on, pretending as if that blunder totally hadn’t happened. The flushed heat that crawls up the back of your neck makes you duck your own head, turning to the laminated pages of the menu.

“What can I get you today, then?”

“Hmm…” Slowly, after you had skimmed through the pages, your eyes lifted, tracing its way back to Ling’s dark gaze, “How about… you surprise me?”

 

* * *

 

 

The rush of customers begins at exactly ten minutes before 3 o’ clock. It begins with the small trickling of high school students, ambling in with their lanky limbs, followed by exasperated parents, readied with long lists of coffee orders. It swells with the entrance of two secretaries, one male and one female, chatting about something that sounds like tax rebate. The tide of customer’s flows in and out; even as a father with his child, and their family’s tamed bot, enters to order some pasta to go, another wide-eyed robot leaves with its owner’s takeaway.

Ling pops out of the kitchen infrequently, relying on the two server bots to do much of patron herding. Each time you spot them, with their small black ponytail bouncing on the back of their head, they looked pleasantly harried. Those words were a contradiction, in and of itself, but Ling seemed to _be_ a fascinating contradiction. They were constantly on the move, swirling around the customers, their energy conducting smiles across entire room’s circuit. It kind of reminds you of the way you feel after the morning rushes in the bakery, where you and your own team or robots manage to surf through the waves of incoming requests, your body filled with thrumming happiness.

You smile; pleased to see that the Café your manager had decided to support was under such capable hands, managed to perfection. Ling, when you catch their eye, nods back at you. _How cool, haha._

Instead of one of the server bots (the most familiar being Mister Bot, who looks distinguished with its curled mustache) delivering your food, Ling delivers it straight to you, only staying long enough for you to thank them. Sure enough, they dive back into the thick of things, leaving you to observe your meal in relative peace.

It’s a… sandwich. It’s a… sandwich? You squint, unsure if you were missing something. There wasn’t anything wrong with the sandwich, per se, but you though your ‘surprise me’ comment would warrant something more impressive. _Maybe Ling was trying to passive aggressively tell you to back off? Ahh, food for thought._ Shrugging, and not noticing Ling glancing back at you, you pick up one half of the sliced bread, bringing it up to taste it.

The first bite… is heaven. (Holy hell, _it is **good**!_ ) You can genuinely feel your eyes begin to sparkle, and you rush to take a second bite as soon as the first disappears, melting beautifully in your mouth. From across the room, you can see Ling’s customer-smile fade a little, settling into a sort of half-smug smirk, and half- _I’m holding back from laughing_ grin. You can’t even explain how it is so _lovely_ , and so _balanced_ in flavor. The richness of the garlic sauce, countered by the crunchiness of the green leaves, and the texture of the fried-buttermilk chicken. Heaven is in sight, Heaven is _here_.

You are _so going to pester Ling for this piece of heaven's recipe_.

The plate of _heaven_ is finished quickly, well before the rush can even think about dissipating. You’re disappointed, since Ling looks to be too busy to even wave goodbye, and you wave over to Mi-Bot to grab your bill.

“Oh, um, hey! Mister Bot, right?” At the server bot’s pause, you continue to hurry the words out of your mouth, “Could you, um, give my compliments to the Chef? The food was super delicious!”

[AFFIRMATIVE. MISTER LING WILL BE INFORMED OF YOUR APPRECIATION.]

“Thank you…” Before your mind can fully comprehend the words, your feet are already rushing you out of the establishment. Right now, you can appreciate the heat radiating from the city, as it manages to dispel a little bit of the food-coma that had fallen over you.

_Hmm… Mister Ling?_

Your brain sort of mulls over the words Mister Bot had beeped at you, before totally blanking out, still overcome by the taste of buttermilk in your mouth. Your feet guide you towards the observatory deck, bounding over the steps as if they were nothing. _Huh? Mister… Ling?_ Looking at the evidence, Ling sort of had a deep voice… But their face was effeminate, peppered with faint freckles. And their eyelashes were long? **_Mister_** _Ling?_ Though, as you stared at your own reflection on the elevator’s doors, your lashes were long too… Ling’s smile comes to mind, mesmerizingly bright. _But… you thought Ling was… uhh, wait, what?_

Mister Ling? Yeah, you should probably ask about that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> mood right now is... ling's hair. liNG WITH A MAN BUN. LING WITH HIS HAIR BRAIDED WITH FLOWERS. LING W/ FLOWER CROWN.
> 
> 100_prompts: 77, Closer.


	4. Wheat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Good things come to those who wheat. Also, Ling is prettier than you, and you're 100% okay with that.

In the end, you choose to not approach ‘Ling from the Café’, and instead choose to approach an informant that you supposedly have a closer bond to. For some reason, as your hands automatically distribute the pre-iced donuts onto separate trays, you get the weird premonition that you would regret approaching your Manager, of all people.

“They were as nice as you told me…”

She shoots you a bemused look, confused at the sound of your statement, “They were nice to you. Alright? Why would you say that like that’s a bad thing?”

“It’s just…” Seeing as it was just you and the Manager left in the store, plus the sweet robots on duty, there wasn’t much of a reason for you to be keeping your voice down. _You were acting like you had some deep dark manslaughter-induced secret, not like you had only mistaken someone’s biological gender. Twice. Non-verbally._ You clear your throat, sharing your thoughts out loud. “It’s just, Ling… I didn’t know that they were, uh, well. A—a, hmm.” _Even if you had never actually addressed Ling as a female, it didn’t mean that you weren’t guilty as hell_.

“Ling? Ling, the guy from the Café? Did he do something to you?” Instead of the previously bemused look, the expression on her face was slowly transforming, morphing into something that could be likened to apprehension. Annoyance, even. “Did he tell ya ‘ta do something for him? Hun, I told you, if you can’t say no to someone, then you should _definitely_ tell me, and _I’ll_ say no ‘ta them for you! “ You wince, giving false credence to her thickening accent’s theory, “Hah, that Ling! Pretty boy is _so_ gonna hear it from me! Pretty faces need ‘ta learn that _no means no_ , you hear me—“

“Whoa, whoa, no!” Your hands fling up, to stop her from finishing her train of thought and derailing into the ‘must protect the Bakery clan’ mode. “No! Calm down, please! Also, what’re you even saying? I can say no!” The burning fire of passionate mothering simmers down to a small campfire, instead of the burning inferno it was threatening to be. You breathe a sigh of relief, lips creasing into what you hoped was an awkwardly heartening smile.

“Really? You, say no?” She sends you a deadpan look. She sends Label-bot a deadpan, commiserating look. She even sends sweet Sorry-bot a deadpan, commiserating, ululating look. She does not, however, send Tiny-bot any looks, for Ti-bot was too preoccupied with doing its work, the sweet little thing it was. “…so ‘Van called in sick for this afternoon’s closing shift.”

 _Changing the subject?_ You were not in any position to complain, however. “Huh? Are they doing okay?” The words sort of fall from the tight grip of your frown, worry for your coworker visible as you turn your full attention back onto the conversation.

“Yeah, they’re probably fine.” She seemed to be unworried, in comparison, waving off your concerns with a smile. _That’s weird. Manager would be the first person to mother over a ‘sick Bakery chickadee’, or however she says it…_ Her smile seemed strange; in fact, you could go as far as saying that her _stiff smile_ indicated an ulterior motive. “Got no one to replace ‘em in a hurry though. I might need to find someone to work the late shift.”

“I could do it, if you’d like me to,” you say, pronouncing the offering carefully.

“You could, Hun?” Manager purses her lips in an over exaggerated way, jutting her lip out as if it were a fold-out lipstick stained couch that was questioning your ‘answer’. It makes you bristle, the thought of the Manager being troubled by the day’s happenings and not taking your offer as sincere. “Ya sure about that?”

“Of course I am… Oh, but—” You cut your own proverbial tongue off from completing the sentence by squinting at the large digital clock, proudly hung up by the Bakery entrance. _It’s already Sunday? I promised my parents I’d have dinner with them… Ah, maybe I could apologize by bringing in that sponge cake they wanted to taste?_ Still, you sorrowed at the loss of another Sunday dinner with the family, making no move to change your manager’s mind.

“Hah. Ha, ha.” Deadpan look _ahoy_ , Madam Manager appears defeated by something, even though her customary fake laughter indicated that she had proved a point. _What was the argument again? That I can’t say no— Hey! No!_

“Manager!”

“Told ya so, Hun. And for proving to me that you’re my favorite workaholic yes-man, you can have tonight _and_ tomorrow morning off.”

Your body sags, and you shake your head at her antics. “Thank you? I appreciate that, Manager.” You tug at the sleeves of your uniform, leaving faint dustings of flour as you do. It’s miniscule, so you ignore it, already forming your next reply. “That’s not the main issue here… though?”

“So you’re saying that being a cute little _spaniel_ is just a side issue?” This, she croons at you, fluttering her darkened lashes in your direction. Vaguely, you hope that none of the customers would find mascara drenched eyelashes in their crispy Vietnamese rolls.

“What I’m saying is… that Ling is a, um, guy.”

 _Finally. Finally, your sins have been revealed._ You feel drained, at finally being able to admit that your awe of Ling’s bright smile had blinded you, confused you to the truth of the matter.

“…Well. Yes.” The one thing you never find yourself wondering during the quiet, peaceful moments is whether Madam Manager’s expressions could get any more deadpan. Such things are a constant in this world; as The Circular Ocean will never stop swallowing up The Land, or as the Sun will never grace The World, your Manager’s expressions for monotonous disbelief will always find new depths, either by the Bakery worker’s actions or by The World’s. The ability to predict something as _true_ is comforting, even though The World around you seem content to fall apart without interference. An ache threatens to choke your throat, thrumming deep from your chest.

Suddenly, it grips your heart; you remember the way the morning light hit the ocean ports of The Burgh, dipping the waters glowing with seed shrimps into an easel with a palette of golden hues. How beautiful your mind paints it to be… how easily the darkness swallows up the light. Now, The Burgh is barren of that golden light, thus called upon by that very title.

The Barrens.

You feel small. Small, and even more drained. That is, due to the way The World continues to lose its light, steadily, remaining only for one more decade’s worth… as well as due to your Manager’s nudging gaze. Her words come out slow, deliberate, and you realize that she’s repeating herself. _How lost were you to the barren vulnerability, to not have heard your boss’ reply?_

“Well, you ain’t wrong about pretty _boy_. Mister Ling is a guy.”

“Ah.” You try for a smile, and fail in that. Recalling the way Ling smiled, back in the Café, so cheerful and lovely—you succeed in a less brittle smile after that. “I didn’t realize Ling was… Well, his smile was just so, uh, lovely… Refreshing, too?”

“So what I’m hearing,” She cuts you off from embarrassing yourself, and going on a tangent about how beautiful Ling’s customer-care smile was, “you’re saying that even you can appreciate that he’s a real pretty boy?” The ‘I’m so proud that you’re out and about, exploring the world’s unseen beauties’ is implied in her tone. “How sweet of you!”

“Please don’t say it like that! It was a mistake on my part, I swear… It’s not weird, he’s just really, well, lovely?” You had tried to not assume Ling’s gender, but for some reason, seeing **his** untiring energy, his flattering dimpled smile (the ones baristas were prone to give to collect more tips), and **his** honest to God long lashes – is it any wonder that your mind’s first thought was how much you’d like to befriend such a lovely _person_ who seemed to _most likely be a biological female_ , with customer-skills beyond compare?

Honestly, you feel like crying. And, also, like apologizing. _How on World did you even use that sort of thinking so justify Ling being female?_

His smile, your mind provides. His smile was this perfect exhibit of customer hospitality, bright and beautiful. But when Ling truly _smiled_ , like when he watched as you and other customers enjoyed the Café’s fares… You’re reminded again of the golden hues that once painted The Ocean, The Burgh. They’re lovely. He’s lovely? Lovely, like dying embers, taking pleasure in the little things, rather than the desolate nature of the big things.

“While I would like to thank you for listening and explaining everything to me… Uhh, Manager.” Your lips are tugged downwards by the force of your uneasiness, and your eyes barely flick to her amused gaze. And boy, oh boy, _is she amused_. “I don’t think you should be smiling so much? And, also, it isn’t even that funny? I want to apologize to Ling, for misunderstanding things…”

She does not bother to hide her mirth from you, even as her lip-balm caked lips form her gleeful reply, “Hun, honey bun, who do you think you’re kidding?” She’s practically crooning at you. Her instincts are keen enough that _she knows_ that she’s got you cornered into another embarrassing corner. And _she’s loving it_? “I know I said that the Café people were nice, but they must’ve been _real_ nice looking, hm? For you to mistake Mister Ling as someone of the opposite gender…” There’s that grin again, foreshadowing the future loss of your peace. “You must’ve mistaken his _package_ while you were delivering the Bakery’s package.”

_Oh, for the love of—_

“Manager! There are innocent bots here! You can’t just—” Your voice comes out as yelp, a squeak sounding in between your flustered words. The flush that explodes on your flour dusted face is clear as cling-wrap over a bowl of waffle batter; the feeling of embarrassment crawls up unabashedly up your neck again, even as you cough to clear your throat. “Y-You can’t just, you know, _say_ things like that. Ling was really nice…” _…to me._ The man, as you now knew to biologically categorize him as, was extremely accommodating, even in the face of your nervous babbling. It was undoubtedly _very nice of him_ to not mock you, _like the Manager seemed to still be doing_.

It works in dragging you out of your melancholy, so you can’t complain too much.

A microwave beeps behind her, indicating that the icing had been heated up sufficiently. Thankfully, the noise also allows you to turn away, throwing caution to the wind as you run away from her. “So! About that, uhh, those production sheet _things_ for tomorrow!”

The speed at which you unsubtly changed the topic was simply remarkable. As was the speed at which you skedaddled out of her direct line of sight.

It’s a great mercy when the Manager seems to agree to drop the subject with a magnanimous smile, eyes curved in pleasure. Thankfully, she preoccupies herself with Tiny-Bot’s help, icing the prepared donuts for you. “Honestly, I didn’t think that you of all people would still need a production sheet to tell you what to make!”

The sounds of your pained replies intertwined with your Manager’s nagging for you to go say hi to _that cute Mister Ling_ and the occasional _let your no mean no, Hun_ get carried out by a warm wind from the Bakery’s open windows, floating down to the streets, dragging the remnants of content workers and the smell of fresh bread away with it.

 

* * *

 

 

On Monday, you find yourself at the local non-library. To be clear, the space you had currently secluded yourself in indeed contained popular fiction and non-fiction novels, but it was created more for those who lived on the upper apartments. While the Library on the ground floor was considered the place to find books by respected authors, like that new emerging writer who called himself The Author (which was very confident of him, you must admit), this library-with-a-lowercase-l was more of a place to just enjoy the words in peace.

It’s a nice place, with seats, and desks set out. There are very few decorations, very few pictures, as well as one poster in the corner talking about some photography competition.

You noticed that days seemed to be less productive when you weren’t assigned early morning shifts. There wasn’t any comparison to the feeling of accomplishment you got from successfully setting out all the Bakery’s sliced loaves before the store opened. For a little while, though, reading a good book helped as a minor substitute to working. _For some reason, you’re beginning to think that you sound like a workaholic, wanting to work even on your day off._

Turning the page, you read the continuation of a passage from the previous page. There’s the tell-tale creaking from the large wooden doors, indicating the presence of someone new in the enclosed space. It takes you a few seconds, but you eventually do find time to check who had come in.

The speed at which you blanched, face draining of your ever-present Bakery flush (caused by the constant heat radiating from the ovens, mixers, and provers) was simply remarkable. You look back down at the book in your hands, glad that Ling didn’t seem to have noticed you. He seems like a man on a mission, heading straight for the installed kitchen’s many fridges.

Truth be told, you felt awkward. How were you supposed to treat a guy you barely knew, who you had only interacted with during work hours? Interactions where you drew strength from knowing the boundaries, knowing that if you didn’t give a good impression, you would draw a bad name on either the Bakery, or on your family name? _Messiah, please save me??_ Now, without the protection of expectations, you felt lacking, fear of approaching warring against the fear of presuming.

You’ve been staring at the same page for the last couple of minutes.

Hurriedly, you turn the page. And then turn the page back, as if you were contemplating the words you had totally just read. You turn your head sideways, to avoid the temptation to peek.

Beyond the curtain of your hair, you see sensible black leather shoes tap tapping their way across and away from you. They stop, though, before twisting in your direction. Before you can dwell too much in your fear of being recognized, _you get recognized_. “Morning. Are you taking a break too?”

Gulping a deep breath in to calm yourself, you tilt your face upwards, expression set at something that resembled a smile. It must work, because from what you can see, Ling returns the smile with his own something-resembling-a-smile smile. “Actually, it’s my day off today. Um, you’re having lunch… right?” How do you make conversation with people who weren’t your customers, your coworkers, or your parents again?

“Leftover pasta. Completely forgot that there wasn’t a microwave here, so it’s going down cold.” He shakes the container of food in his hands, and you nod.

“I'm sure it'll still taste great, since you cooked... it. I mean, even if it’s cold, I hope you—you know? Enjoy your lunch.” You stop before your eloquence leaves you completely.

There’s a pause in the conversation, and you’re only just discerning enough to understand that this isn’t the time to drop being social with Ling and go back to reading your book. Ling, on the other hand, looks about ready to pick up where you left off. “Look, I know we’ve only just met, but I wanted to ask,” his lashes are so long, and they’re fluttering at you with concern, and you’re hit with the admiration for his Messiah-blessed genes that you almost miss the conclusion of his sentence, “are you alright? You look tired.”

Ling looks genuinely concerned. Maybe, he saw your constipated displays of emotions, plus the way your face still hadn’t gained back its color, _plus_ the way your eyes still stared past him instead of at him, and concluded that you weren’t feeling well. You’re struck by how _nice he is_. Both in terms of appearance, and in his attitude towards you, a stranger.

He’s a lovely person, you admit to yourself again.

He’s a _lovely person_ , you admit to yourself again, especially when after you reassure him that you were okay, his response is to smile at you in _relief_. With that genuine smile, under the light of the ceiling, he was just—

“You’re really pretty!” Immediately, you _shut up, oh my messiah, please shut up!_ “I’m sorry, I just! Um, what I mean, is that your smile… And your face? It’s— I just—“ _think that you should smile like that more often._ Yeah, no, you were not going to finish that sentence today. _Ever._

Some type of jumbled reaction shutters within Ling’s eyes in that brief instant, and for the life of you, you are unable to mistake that flashes of emotion for anything else. _Curiosity_. _Felicity_. Open mirth paints his face, curling his lips back into that smile that you admired.

“Do you honestly mean that?” Your hesitant nod, with hands migrated to your face to cover your lips, answers his spoken question. He huffs out a laugh, before addressing _your compliment oh messiah why did you open your mouth_ directly.

“Thank you.”

A jolt runs through you at the sound of thanks, and your wide eyes finally link with his outgoing features. He reassures you with another “thank you”, as if to make sure you heard him the first time, and it’s enough to fluster you into slowly smiling back.

There's something about him that just draws you in. Thinking on it some more reveals the answer to you -- Ling had always shown you the perfected version of his hospitality smile, the one that said 'my life was meaningless, till I was given the opportunity to serve your every need'. This smile is infinitely more beautiful, drawing you into the orbit of his warm, dimpled smile. It's nervous, slightly crooked, and not at all perfect.

In other words, it’s perfect.

“I’m glad I got you to actually look me in the eye. And smile too!” You awkwardly laugh at his words, even as he sets himself down onto the seat in from of you. He opens his lunch up, looking as if he had all the time in the World to talk with you.

“I smiled at you before… at the Café, though?”

“True. But you look a lot happier now,” he says, bright smile in place.

“I am. I appreciate you, uh, not freaking out.” You feel calmer. You feel like you, who would much rather be at home and away from confrontation, have been blessed to make someone as bright as Ling laugh. Also, on the plus side, he didn’t freak out by you calling him pretty, _directly_.

“You were looking kind of down. Your manager told me to look out for you!” Ling’s words have that undertone of ‘your manager threatened me into looking out for you’, but you understand, having experienced a blast of your Manager’s protectiveness days prior. “And maybe it’s just me, but it’s too _brew-tiful_ of a day for you to be sad.”

“Did you say _…brew-tiful?_ ”

Something inside you breaks at the thought of a lovely person punning at you.

You can’t help it. You laugh.

Over the din of you laughing your head off at the beautiful execution of a coffee pun (you were so saving that one for later, and telling it to the Bakery Bots for safe keeping), you realize that you’ve finally untensed, relaxed in the presence of this _lovely_ person. It doesn’t mean that you don’t feel guilty for making Ling feel the need to act and make you smile; he shouldn’t have had to go out of his way to do that. But, you’re glad, and thankful to your Manager. No longer are you strung tight from being unsure as to how you should treat this person, who is not exactly your coworker, not exactly a stranger, yet not initially a friendly acquaintance. Finally, you melt into the warmth of finding someone who appreciated puns, and was confident enough to voice them, where as you usually held back.

This _lovely_ person has the _loveliest_ smile on them, the one you couldn’t help but admire. When you mouth ‘ _brew-tiful_ ’ back at him, tugging at a strand of your hair, he snorts, smile growing infinitely softer.

You realize that this is the kind of smile, the kind of warm looks, that you want to share with people more often. Bright, unperturbed by the darkness in the sky, or the lightless hollow in the city’s towering bosom. This is the kind of smile that you want to share with a friend like Ling more often.

 

* * *

 

 

Just before Tuesday’s 5am, while you’re capturing stray strands of hair into your bakery hat, your phone pings with a reply. Glancing at it, you cannot help the snort that escapes you, nor the laughter than resonates in your chest.

 

> **lovely person** : hope you have a _brew-tiful_ day.
> 
> **you** : ^^ we’ll just have to _wheat_ and see...!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been almost three weeks help?? I didn't mean for this to take so long to come out! Ahaha haha hh aa aha... Have this block of words as an apology????
> 
> I spent a lot of time writing headcanons for The World, but one of the main ones is that the Barrens was once known as the Burgh. I also have a name lined up for the Refuge, not sure when I'll be able to slip it in! This chapter is mostly just me solidifying the personalities of the people, and the World as well. I found myself having too much fun writing about Manager and Reader, as well as writing about sweet library interactions between Ling and Reader. *heart goes doki doki in the distance*
> 
> They are definitely gonna be a slow burn. I'm hoping for around the 40th chapter mark before platonic becomes romantic lolololol


	5. Pineapples

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 100_prompts: 2, sway.

“Back again, Mister Ling?”

“You know, you don’t have to call me ‘Mister’ every time I visit.” The smile that you provide in answer to Ling’s exasperated grin continued to be positively devious. In the face of your own stubbornness, all the black-haired youth could do was continue to be exasperated. “How are you able to call me Ling when we meet up at my Café, but not when I’m in _your_ Bakery?”

“Are you asking me to be rude to a dearly beloved customer such as yourself,” you can barely hold off the laughter in your voice, “huh, Mist _ah_ Ling?” You distract yourself by waltzing off in the direction of the cash register, hoping to find some disposable plastic gloves stashed away. Just in case _Mister Ling_ decided to buy some bread today. “Or, are you telling me to be rude… Mister Ling?”

“I’m not asking or telling you anything, dear Baker.” The feeling of contentedness flickers in the back of your mind when you finally coax that genuine laugh out of Ling, that lovely bright smile from a lovely bright guy. Geez, there really were some people out there blessed with phenomenally lovely genes. Namely, Exhibit A.

“So!” You fake a cough, trying to shake off the spark of sugar, spice, and everything nice from your gaze. “What would you like from the Bakery today?” Snapping on your disposable gloves, you stand at the ready by the glass cabinets, filled to the brim with tasty treats. The sweet Bakery Bots crowd around you, emitting soft beeping noises. You don’t have the heart to scold them for crowding you again—

“Could I grab one Hawaiian pizza roll, please?”

You could not help the sound of mirth that escapes you. Ling has visited The Bakery a couple of times now, over the past two months of your shared acquaintance. Every single time he visited, he _without fail_ asked for a Hawaiian pizza roll. Even your manager has commented on how unwaveringly loyal he was to pineapples. 

It _had_ to be Ling playing a joke. Right?

“Um?” Your soft laughter abruptly cuts off when you notice the curious expression on Ling’s face. You’re pretty sure that your own face reflected that same curiosity, with a small touch of growing realization. “Again? Are… you sure you don’t want anything else?”

“I think so?” Ling’s look of curiosity seamlessly morphs into confusion. Your heart breaks with each moment of absolute obliviousness. _Pineapples_ , your mind chants, _pineapples_.

“…was that all today, Mister Ling? A Hawaiian pizza roll to-go?” You squint. You squint so very hard at Ling.

Ling, from your squinting stare, looks lovely as normal. His hair is tied up, managing to still look messy even when trapped by hair ties, and he’s dressed in normal, non-working clothes. The casual outfit consists of a street-smart white hoodie, accented with black pockets. There’s a red handkerchief tied to his right wrist. You’re not quite sure what the point of the handkerchief is, but… it’s fashionable, to say the least.

“Um, hey…” The endless thoughts momentarily cease when Ling pronounces your name carefully, rousing you from your squinting. He tries to form a smile, but you’re pretty sure you’ve made him embarrassed from how hard you were staring him down. Still, he perseveres. “There’s nothing wrong with Hawaiian. Is there?” From behind you, Label-Bot makes a gentle whirring sound, to indicate that it was going to pack the best _Hawaiian pizza rolls_ you had in stock. Pizza rolls with more than one pineapple on top; with more than ten slices of pineapple on top. _Pineapples_.

“Yea—I mean, no. No?” Armed with the hospitality smile, it’s your turn to shine. Even if you’re questioning Ling’s judgment. Even though The Bakery aimed to provide only the best products for customers, you’re… still not sure how someone can eat one of the Bakery’s oiliest products (the pizza roll), paired with _pineapples_ (it was a _Hawaiian_ pizza roll).

This time, it’s Ling’s turn to squint at you. You resist the niggling urge to squirm under the searching gaze as you try your very best to hold onto the façade of everything being _perfectly fine_. “They’re not terrible… are they?”

“They’re not terrible… if you get them without the pineapples. I’m willing to throw a discount in if you get the pineapple-less version!” The cheery banter leaves your mouth before you can drag them deep within you, in the bottomless pit where you normally stored and smothered every unnecessary thing you wanted to say out of the blue. The fact remains that your yes-no-maybe joking answer made Ling look ten times more confused; it makes you feel eleven times more embarrassed. “That was a joke. Um.”

Ling stares at you, wide-eyed. 

“Mister Ling? I didn’t mean to question your pineapples.” You fiddle with your apron, fingers tracing the Bakery’s logo embroidered onto the edges. “I mean, this is a no-judgment zone, and all…” Your cheeks start to flush, lips curling into a tentative apology, all before you _finally_ notice the way Ling’s lips are twitching a little, right in the corner. You squint again, catching the way lithe shoulders shake. Eyes widening, all you can manage is a choked, “Wait a minute… Mister? Ling? A-Are you—”

“Well, if we’re being honest here,” from the ashes of betrayal, lovely Ling’s smile frames the final blow, “I don’t normally eat pineapples. At all.”

“But… but you buy it every week!” Ling continues to twist the knife in your heart, hiding his laughter behind the light palm of his hand. “Ling! Ling, come on, are you playing a prank on me?” Fireworks start shooting in your head and connections start taking place. You remember seeing Ling and Madam Manager with their heads bowed together _months ago_. Were they… plotting your demise? Via embarrassment? “Did—did you and the Manager play a prank on me?”

“I’m sorry… If it’s any consolation… your Manager forced me to do it.” The expression on Ling’s face did not resemble the expression of a man being forced to do anything. Ling was such a bad actor. He nods at you though, cueing that it was your turn to sound suitably distressed.

“I don’t believe you. Even my Manager wouldn’t stop so low as to make someone eat _pineapples_ before my very eyes.” Ling hums, neither confirming nor denying. “You cannot continue lying to me… I—I will expose the truth!”

“I’ll make it up to you.” Your jaw drops in abject shock. While Ling attempts to keep his bashful, pleased features underneath a straight face, all you can do is play up the _abject shock_ card. What happened to the lovely Ling, who wouldn’t have dared to conspire with your Manager and launch an unwarranted attack on a loyal Baker like you? What happened to his lovey heart that forced him to consider eating pineapple on pizza rolls for the past few weeks? 

Extremely overdramatic fake tears welled in your heart and metaphorically overflowed into your eyes. You make your bottom lip wobble, lowering your voice into a bare stage-whisper. You had to confront this _fraud_. The true Ling would never betray his loveliness like this. “Liar! My manager will just rope you into tricking me again”

“No, honestly, believe me!” Ling ‘begs’ you, leaning on the glass pastry case with mock desperation. He's so bad at pretending to be distraught. He's so bad, and it's so silly, but you cannot let yourself laugh, not right now. Right now was the time for your own distraught-ed-ness. “I promise I’ll make it up to you. Please, trust me!” Ling catches the grin that accidentally slipped in before it grew too wide on his face. His lithe shoulders shake with mirth.

In the background, one of the Bakery bots whirrs with concern. You love them, even more than you love this banter that Ling has initiated.

Still, you literally cannot hold onto the giggles struggling to escape from your lips. This show must go on, even if you wanted to break down into laughter with Ling (who looked equally constipated, besieged to hold back his own laughter). “You can’t erase these memories of betrayal, Ling… or the number of pineapples on pizza I’ve had to watch you eat. I-It’s just not possible!”

“But I can do one better…” Finally, Ling allows himself the pleasure of dropping his extremely bad poker face, revealing the lovely smile you so admired. “…and make you homemade sandwiches?”

Sandwiches? You blink owlishly at Ling, slowly remembering the luxurious taste of the sandwiches Ling had served you ages back, the first time you had truly sat down in his Café. Those sandwiches? _The ones that tasted like Heaven had dropped down, kissing them with pieces of Light?_ You don’t even fake the squint you shoot Ling. “Um… hmm, what’s the catch?”

Ling takes your suspicious squint without complaint, smiling back at you with what you dearly hoped was sincerity. He holds up one finger, and you’re left to hope that the _catch_ that he proposes wouldn’t involve you eating an entire slice of Hawaiian pizza. “There’s only one catch: you have to eat with me in the library. The one next to the Café?” 

You hum, a deep and inherently wary noise from the back of your throat. 

To your right, Sorry-Bot beeps out a musical tone, sounding apologetic about breaking up the chattering. A brief glance at its mechanical torso reveals the dreaded Hawaiian pizza roll in their grasp, and you gently relieve the bot of its burden. Confidently, you punch in the price of the pizza roll into the system before sliding it over to Ling. “I respectfully accept your deal of sandwiches, as long as they contain no pineapples. On that note, that’ll be $1.99, Mister Ling.”

The respected customer of the Bakery passes the requested change over to you, scrunching up his face slightly when he registers your exaggerated pronunciation of _mistah_. You think that he deserves the pain of being called ‘mister’, just this once. “I should probably head out before the midday heat hits.”

You pat So-Bot’s arm in thanks, shooting Label-Bot some sweet finger guns. La-Bot attempts to reciprocate. You love them so much. Finally, your heartbeat calms down from the thrill of the action, with your customary hospitality and retail smile returns to its former place on your face. “Take care out there, Mister Ling.”

Ling pauses, already halfway out the door, before calling out your name. The bell fixed to the corner of the door frame jingles precariously, tinkling merrily as you hummed back, turning to face him. In a soft voice, with that infinitely precious Hawaiian pizza roll in his hands, he scratches his cheek. “Hey… I’m glad I came here today to see you. This was fun. Just…” The red bandanna tied around his wrist brushes against his lips. The air around the both of you feels stretched tight, warm and content. “Just… uh. You should

Soft and merry, like the doorbell chiming above the door frame, you laugh. “Sorry, _Mister_ Ling, I don’t like to make promises to traitors. Even _if_ I’m giving you a second chance.” Your eyes, shining as bright as the make-believe stars suspended about a galaxy of phosphor shrimp sheens… they twinkle. 

“Promise you’ll find it in you to forgive me?” His lovely sunshine smile glimmers.

Your merry eyes twinkle back. “Promise, Ling.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, it's been months both IRL and in fic! Which is why I feel comfortable presenting a cute glimpse/slice of life of how these two darlings are going. Aren't they just... really cute? Almost a bit too cute, compared to older chapters. I hope the change isn't too jarring, since I desperately wanted to jump straight into why I started this fic; the cute slice of life. (God, rereading this is just... this is what I imagine Ling as in my head, but I??? don't know??? why I made him??? so sweet and cute and??? giggly???)
> 
> Also! I have blog now up over in Tumblr under [dear-hanhan](http://dear-hanhan.tumblr.com/), where I mostly just reblog cute story ideas, cute Oneshot fanart, and cute… stuff? Shoot me an ask if you’d like to see anything in the fic!
> 
> Hopefully, since I have the next chapter for this fic _kind of_ written, maybe I’ll get it out… ehh?


End file.
